


Fire Drill

by Caty_314



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, Drinking, Labour 😱, Sex, total crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 12:42:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18717316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caty_314/pseuds/Caty_314
Summary: Voldemort summons his followers...But what sort of things were his Death Eaters doing before he called?





	Fire Drill

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you,  RedHorse, for beta reading for me. ❤️

The Dark Mark _burned_ …

* * *

The glass of cooled firewhiskey had barely brushed Malfoy’s lips when an unexpected and remorseless pain tore through his arm, causing his hand to shake and his grip to fail. Clutching his forearm, he gazed down at himself in disgust. He didn't voice his displeasure aloud despite the vulgar curses that spewed through his thoughts. He vanished the mess, and, knowing he needed to respond immediately but too dignified to run, hurried upstairs to change into robes that didn't stink of alcohol. He could not arrive before his Lord like _that_.

* * *

Mulciber groaned in sheer contentment as he settled into the tub, the hot water lapping around him in gentle eddies with his every movement. It was the end of what had been a long day of a long week of a long month at the Ministry and, contrary to popular opinion, he didn’t relax by torturing small animals and Muggles. That was just a hobby.

The knots in his back were just starting to ease, the pain they sparked settling and soothing, when suddenly agony tore through him once more, radiating from his arm and setting off the cascade in his back.

He cried out, having been caught by surprise, the back of his head hitting the edge of the tub as his spine arched. Regardless, he quickly pulled himself from the water and dressed without getting properly dry. The sooner his answered to his Master, the sooner the pain would go away.

* * *

“That’s it. _Push!_ ” the mediwitch said. 

Avery rubbed his wife’s hand as she squeezed his hand back, sucking what strength she needed from him to give him the son he’d always wanted. Her voice petered out as the contraction passed, and he soothed her during the respite. “You’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you,” he murmured into her hair.

Her now loose grip tightened slightly in acknowledgement, but at that same moment, his arm burned like a fresh brand and he ripped it away, letting loose a yell that rivaled the one she had given.

Both she and the mediwitch looked at him in shock as he clutched his arm. He stared back, his own surprise mirroring theirs.

“Err, I’ve got to go,” he announced, his voice coloured with disbelief, but no less true. As he raced out the door, all he could think of was the look of utter betrayal on his wife’s face, and the scream of rage that followed him. He decided to assume it was another contraction.

* * *

_“I’ve got 125 from the gentleman in the back. 125. 130! I’ve got 130 from the lady in green. 135 from the back! 135,000 galleons. 135. 140! 140 from the lovely lady in green. 140! 145!_ ”

Nott scowled at the back of the woman’s head. He was determined to win! This book was written by his great-great-grandfather, and who was he to allow some bint from an offshoot of his family line to claim it?

The bidding swung back and forth a few more times before the Mark on his arm flared and a hiss of pain escaped through his teeth. He juggled his wand briefly to try to avoid dropping it, before quickly lifting it again, shooting up sparks.

“ _175! 175 from the back!_ ”

‘ _Drop out. Drop out. Drop out!_ ’ he thought at his distant cousin.

“ _180! I’ve got 180-_ ”

She wasn’t going to drop out.

He raised his wand once more, his hand shaking from the pain of the Mark, but then he knew he couldn’t stay any longer. His Master called. He couldn’t be late.

With a demonstration of greatest disgust, he stood and walked away from the auction, trying not to hear his great-great-grandfather’s work falling into tainted hands.

* * *

Crabbe tore from the bedroom, throwing on his robes as he went. He'd been so _close_ before the pain interrupted his rhythm, leaving both himself and his wife wanting. Hopefully the cleaning charm he'd cast would be enough to disguise his recent activities… 

Hopefully his wife wouldn’t kill him when he came back home...

* * *

The Dark Lord grinned coldly as he surveyed the mighty pure-blood lords who knelt before him. “Well done, my faithful,” he crooned to them, rewarding them with his pleasure. “You serve me well, coming to me so immediately when I call. This, however was but a test to be sure you'll be ready when you're needed.”

The Dark Lord's Death Eaters told themselves that they weren't bitter. They weren't bitter at all...


End file.
